As the battlefield spread across multiple locations, nearly the entire city of Aldor was plunged into chaos.
Sounds of destruction, screams, and cries echoed everywhere, drowning the city in an atmosphere of tragedy and sorrow. It was as if Aldor itself was groaning in its dying moments, facing its own annihilation.
Through the eyes of his 'Feathers' puppet soaring above, Tris could observe much of what was unfolding at once.
Wherever Tris and Nyxar clashed, seas of fire blazed in their wake.
At the city's center, Guildmaster John had flown high and struck into the mage tower as planned.
Yet at the base of the tower, countless Undead poured forth, blocking Leon and Amy's advance. Judging by their attire, these Undead had once been soldiers of the domain or members of the Church of Light slain earlier.
Not far away, the adventurer party led by Orson struggled against the silver‑haired woman and the Magical Beasts she commanded.
Using the cover of buildings, they had managed to launch ambushes and gain some early advantage. But the tide quickly turned. Partly due to the sheer strength of the Magical Beasts, and partly due to the deadly skill of the silver‑haired woman herself.
Several adventurers had already been decapitated by her. Orson and his comrades were forced to step forward to restrain her actions, but the situation was dire. Without their coordinated teamwork, Orson himself would likely have been killed.
Judging by the battle's state, the adventurers would not be able to hold out much longer. Tris feared that panic would soon drive someone to flee, triggering the collapse of their fragile defenses. Even if none of the adventurers fled, should that woman succeed in killing Orson, the group's leader, the same disastrous outcome would occur immediately.
The positions of Bishop Peter and Captain Marcus were still beyond Tris's sight. Yet, judging from the crashing sounds and the thick smoke rising from that direction, he was fairly certain that their group too was facing formidable enemies, perhaps as strong as Nyxar, the silver‑haired woman, or the Undead archer.
The overall situation was anything but favorable. Deep down, Tris had already begun to anticipate the worst possible outcomes, considering routes of retreat and escape. Human strength was limited, and he had nearly exhausted all the aid he could provide.
'Guildmaster John, I hope you will not disappoint us.' Tris sent this silent prayer.
He understood that among all the battlefields, the mage tower held the greatest hope of breaking the deadlock.
Time dragged on slowly, tormenting and eroding the last remnants of patience in everyone.
And then, after a long chain of grim tidings, for the first time in ages, a glimmer of good news appeared.
At the mage tower in the city's center, a sudden crash resounded. Moments later, the entire tower collapsed. Even better, as the tower fell, masses of stone and rubble buried many of the Undead swarming at its base.
From what Tris could glimpse, the sound had originated from within the tower itself, leading to its downfall. Surely Guildmaster John had done something.
Afterward, Tris saw John, Leon, and Amy moving toward the city's sealed gate. As planned, they would join forces with the soldiers and adventurers waiting outside to break the blockade.
Nyxar, who had been fighting Tris relentlessly, gradually ceased his assault and turned his gaze toward the fallen tower, his eyes narrowing.
With his pitch‑black face devoid of clear features, Tris could not discern his expression. Yet he could feel it was certainly not one of joy.
Tris: "What's wrong? Worried about your comrades at the tower?"
Nyxar: "She's far too difficult to kill. It's not yet my turn to worry."
Tris: "Then are you worried your plan has been disrupted?"
Nyxar: "Haha. Trying to probe our true purpose, are you?"
He laughed, showing no sign that their plan had failed or was going awry.
Tris: "Of course anyone would be curious about the reason behind your group suddenly appearing and causing all this chaos."
At that moment, a loud cheer erupted from the city gate. It seemed the blockade had finally been broken. This meant soldiers and adventurers outside could enter to provide aid, while civilians inside had a chance to evacuate.
Hearing the commotion from afar, Tris spoke:
"No more fighting. It's time for me to leave."
Nyxar: "So bluntly declared? Don't you think I might try to keep a dangerous brat like you here and kill you outright, to prevent future trouble?"
Tris: "Is that what you intend to do?"
Tris remained hidden within his puppet, the 'Berserker.'
Its outward appearance was pitiful: A small hole pierced its chest from an arrow earlier, its left arm was gone, and its clothing hung in tatters worse than a beggar's, exposing a massive body scarred with burns.
Yet despite this miserable state, Tris's voice rang out light and casual, as if asking what to eat for dinner.
Nyxar only smiled in response, offering no words. That smile itself was his answer.
Being intelligent, he too no longer wished to continue the fight under these circumstances.
Watching Tris's back as he departed, Nyxar reached behind himself. One of his wings was missing, leaving him unbalanced and uncomfortable.
Nyxar thought to himself: 'Where did such a terrifying brat crawl out from?'
His instincts told him the boy still had hidden trump cards.
When a beast is cornered, it becomes truly dangerous. In this case, it wasn't even a beast, but rather a monster filled with abnormalities.
Moreover, Nyxar was not so foolish as to forget that the brat was, in fact, still unscathed. The tattered image he saw was nothing more than its puppet.
If he continued to press and fight on, the most likely outcome would be that both of them ended up dying here.
Nyxar: "I've still got a long life ahead. Trading it for that brat here would be a losing bargain."
Whistling lightly, Nyxar strode toward the collapsed tower. Perhaps there he might be lucky enough to pull out a beautiful Undead.